


Dubious Practices

by Aris Merquoni (ArisTGD)



Series: Dubious Consent Trilogy [2]
Category: House M.D.
Genre: BDSM, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Drugs, Dubious Consent, Fisting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-08-10
Updated: 2008-08-10
Packaged: 2017-10-06 20:42:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArisTGD/pseuds/Aris%20Merquoni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>House has always enjoyed a challenge. Chase's sexuality? Suddenly a challenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dubious Practices

House had actually read the part of the employee handbook that dealt with sexual harassment, despite what Cuddy and Wilson may have thought, paying particular attention to the section on employees harassing employers. It wasn't something he thought he'd have to deal with in his own department, though some of Cameron's actions had him mentally flipping through the pages until he was absolutely certain he could deal with her, but he liked to know exactly what he could look forward to if he misjudged Cuddy's moods one day. Not that he believed himself capable of such a misjudgment, but it was nice to be prepared.

However, when he caught on to the thoughtful looks Chase had been sneaking at him--a little behind the curve on that one, he chided himself, but he hadn't wanted to assume about Chase's predilections based on his... well, everything--he ran over the guidelines again, just to be sure.

Finally, after a week of covert glances, he sent Chase an obscene page and said "Okay, what?" when he showed up a minute later, scowling and out of breath from the run.

Chase stared at him blankly. "Okay what... what?"

"What is it? You haven't been checking my ass out all week for nothing. What do you want to ask me?"

It was always interesting to watch when he managed to shock someone out of speech. Chase, for example, went completely white, and unconsciously looked around for an exit.

"I--"

House waited. When that seemed to be all Chase was capable of saying, he prompted, "It's obviously about sex. I mean, if you were just going to hit me up for money your lips would already be around my dick."

That had the effect of making Chase choke on his next sentence and look around for a free chair to collapse into. Bingo. "So far I'm two for three on employees hitting on me," he mused. "I wonder what I have to do to interest Foreman. More bling?"

"It's not... like that," Chase finally said.

"Okay. It's like what?"

Chase chewed on his lower lip before answering, staring at the floor. House waited him out, mentally paging through the information he'd collected about Chase. In his mind's eye, he had a nice leather-bound ledger with individual pages for Chase, Cameron, and Foreman. Chase's page mostly had _Daddy issues_ and _trust issues_ written there in bold font.

"I've just... been thinking," Chase finally said, "about things I..." he swallowed. "Want."

"In bed," House supplied, finishing Chase's fortune cookie.

"Yeah," Chase said. He'd gone from white to red. "Um... kinky stuff."

House was amazed he'd actually managed to say it out loud. "And I'm somehow involved?"

"I want... dangerous things," Chase said.

House frowned. Chase stared at the floor for a minute, silent, then finally looked up to meet his eyes. He'd gathered a bit of spine somehow, and his gaze was clear.

"Dangerous things," House repeated. "Dangerous for your job? Your person?"

"My head, too," Chase said with unusual self-evaluation.

"So you can't just throw some money at a girl in spike heels and fishnets."

"No. I need--" he swallowed, looked down again. "Someone who won't fuck it up."

"And you think as well as being a medical mastermind I'm also an expert in BDSM," House said.

"Shit." Chase sounded defeated. He put his head in his hands, and his hair stuck out at angles through his fingers. "I shouldn't have even..."

House let him sit there for a minute while he scouted around his desk for a pen and a free pad of paper. The paper was watermarked with a pharmaceutical company logo, and he scowled at it before dropping it and the writing implement on the other side of his desk. "Here. Write up your list."

Chase jerked his head up to stare, startled.

House nodded at the paper. "You said you had things you wanted to do, so make a list."

It took another few seconds before Chase believed him. Then he scrambled for the paper, clicked the pen and started scrawling. House leaned back in his chair and waited.

Three or four line items rather quickly, one or two after more consideration. Chase hesitated for a long time after that before finally scrawling one more thing and then planting the pen on the desk, firmly.

House retrieved the pad, scanned Chase's lousy handwriting. "Some of these you don't even need me for," he pointed out.

"'Snot the same," Chase said.

He eyed the last item on the list, the one that Chase had been so ashamed of--or scared of. "Trust issues much?" he asked, mentally going back to his ledger to circle and underline the relevant entry.

"Look, if you don't--"

"Here are the rules," he said, cutting Chase off. Chase drew back. "We do this when I say, and not any time else. You don't even think about it during the job. It's over when I say it's over. Okay?"

Chase's anxiety had been transformed into a kind of deer-in-headlights tension, and he swallowed before asking, "Wh--what about safewords?"

"We're not doing scenes," House said dismissively. "I expect you to tell me if something hurts."

"Yeah," Chase said, "okay."

"Fine," House said. "I'll tell you when we start."

* * *

The first few things Chase wanted were easy. Urethral sounding, fine. Fear of getting caught, simple. Some of the things were going to take some preparation. House ordered some toys off the internet and packed Chase off with lube and an ass plug, ordering him to practice.

It was strangely satisfying, if not directly erotic. Chase was responsive physically, reacted well to prompting, and actually followed House's instructions. And he got a look of serenity on his face after orgasm, sometimes, which made House almost believe in the psychological healing power of pleasure. None of it was yet conspiring to make Chase a more stable or balanced person, but House hadn't actually been convinced of the efficacy of that aspect of the plan.

What the whole situation needed was another person; a stabilizing influence, one who wasn't going to turn either of them in to Cuddy. Someone nice, potentially interested in Chase sexually, who'd add an element of unpredictability that would let House trigger Chase's Catholic guilt complex, and tease out the most deeply buried issues Chase had with parental or in loco parental trust.

Of course, that was all rationalizing he performed after first telling Wilson more or less on a whim.

It really hit him, as Wilson's pupils dilated in something that was slightly more than shock, that it would be _perfect_ to get Wilson involved. For one thing, he was demonstrably less Kinsey-zero than House was, which meant he'd enjoy the sex part of things a lot more. He'd never tell Cuddy, and House could manipulate him just about as well as he could Chase. What wasn't to like?

He paged Chase a few days later, timing it so he was just about to have left. Which, perfectly, got him an annoyed Chase at his doorway, shifting his weight back and forth and visibly unsure if this was work or play.

"Lock the door and shut the blinds," he ordered, which got both rid of the uncertainty and a flurry of activity. He'd stashed a bottle of lube and some latex gloves in his desk; he pulled one of the latter on with an audible snap which made Chase's head jerk up.

After a moment of Chase staring uselessly House jerked his head at his desk. "Spread 'em. C'mon."

Chase swallowed and stepped over to the desk, fumbling with his belt. House slapped his hands away. "I'll take care of that. Just get in position."

"Right..." Chase said, moving closer. He bent over and planted his hands on House's desk, feet shoulder-width apart. "Like this?"

"You're a natural." Chase was wearing his leather jacket, which was short enough that it shouldn't be a problem. House reached around him and finished unbuckling his belt, let it hang open as he undid Chase's fly. Which was complicated by the fact that Chase was already getting hard, and of course the shame/guilt cycle just kicked that into high gear when House had his hands all over Chase's crotch. He got Chase's briefs off with a bit of a struggle and then sluiced lube all over his gloved hand.

Chase was gnawing on his lower lip, almost vibrating with the effort of not moving. "I don't think I--"

"Oh, relax. I'm not going to try and force this all the way _tonight_," House said. "This is diagnostic."

"Oh, perfect," Chase said as House wiggled his fingers and estimated the diameter of the plug he'd sent Chase home with. "Just what I always wa--AHH!" he exhaled sharply as House jammed three fingers into him all at once. He clamped down _hard_ at that, but House wasn't moving. "Fucking _hell!_"

"Stop squealing, you'll have half the Board down on us," House said, which got Chase to stop complaining and start hyperventilating. Partial success. He ran his free hand up Chase's back, under his shirt, along his spine. Smooth skin, warm and slightly damp from sweat; House trailed his fingertips back down the raised nodules of his vertebrae and tried to will some of the tension out of him. It worked about as well as concentrating his willpower on things ever did, which was to say as long as he kept actually doing work.

He started moving his fingers, gently; at first every time he pulled out it was impossible to push back, but after a few minutes of effort he was sliding the full length of his first three fingers through that tight ring of muscle without a problem. He paused with his fingers in to the knuckles to ask, "Feel like one more?"

"Uhh... fuck," Chase said. "I--yes, okay, I want to try."

Now that was dedication. House pulled his fingers out just far enough to line his pinky up, then pushed back in. Chase squeaked, then made a face at his own reaction.

"How does that feel?" House asked, curious. A quick check of Chase's dick was enough to get a barometric reading of 'still hot', but it was always good to get independent confirmation.

"Y--ah, fuck, _yeah,_ good," Chase said.

He pulled out far enough to confirm that he wasn't causing any bleeding--good so far--and then pushed back in, through the rubber-band tightness into the impressive heat--one always forgot exactly how warm it was _inside_ the human body. Chase moaned, and House repeated the motion, getting another moan. Experimental results promising.

"Soooo," he drawled, "the interesting thing about this is that as much as you have to trust me, I have to trust that you'll actually let me know if I'm hurting you."

Chase didn't respond for a few seconds, until he realized House was waiting. "Uh... no, 'sgood," he panted.

"Because I can push harder," he said.

"I c'n--"

House stopped moving his hand, leaned forward until he could talk right into Chase's ear. "I can _hurt_ you," he said. "I push too hard, my hand causes tears in your intestinal wall, you get peritonitis, you get to explain that in the ICU. Or die."

Chase was shivering again. "I... you wouldn't..."

"Yeah?" It was awkward, at this angle, to try and push his hand deeper, but he worked his fingers forward and twisted them, and Chase cried out softly. "You'd better talk to me."

"I..." he swallowed, sniffled a bit. "I want more..."

"Can you _take_ more?"

"Ahh... I--" House shifted his fingers again, and Chase bit off, "--hurts."

House closed his eyes and nodded, even though Chase couldn't see him. "Yeah."

So he twisted his hand around until he could apply direct pressure on Chase's prostate, instead. That got him to yelp, and House smirked, and grabbed a couple kleenex from the box on his desk, and jerked Chase to orgasm in his hand, until Chase was shaking and panting and just trying his damnedest to stay quiet.

House dumped the soiled tissues on the desk, which was easier to clean than his carpet, anyway. The fingers he'd had up Chase's ass were clear of blood when he checked, which was reassuring. He pulled the glove off and asked, "How do you feel?"

"Uh, sore," Chase said, breathless. "But good... thanks."

He grabbed some of House's precious kleenex and finished cleaning himself off. His eyes were watering. House pretended not to see.

"I'll page you again," he said when Chase had his belt buckled. "Don't worry about when ahead of time."

"Like that's going to be easy," Chase laughed.

For an instant, almost, he felt the impulse to throw his arm around Chase's shoulders, to try and give him at least a pale facsimile of that parental approval he'd been desperately seeking.

Then the moment passed, and he waved Chase away. "Careful sitting down tomorrow, or you'll give the game away," he said. His leg was hurting again. He pulled his vicodin out of his pocket, ignored as Chase unlocked the door and left.

* * *

There were entire books out there on behavior modification, but House had always been a natural at it. He just alternated days when he paged Chase to come to his office after work for torment with days when he got Wilson to come by after work to chew over cases or Cuddy's breasts or the latest General Hospital. He was so good at it that he got Wilson to the point where he was coming over automatically just as he got Chase to where he was almost able to give him what he wanted most in the whole world, after an all-expenses-paid vacation to an island made entirely of hookers and blow.

So he just paged Chase two days in a row. Easy. And then he didn't lock the door.

That was much harder.

Chase didn't notice, just meekly stepped over to House's desk and stood feet shoulder-width apart, hands in his pockets. House got in front of him, leaned on his desk and started undoing Chase's pants.

"Hands behind your back," he ordered, just to make Chase fidget. "Didn't you ever learn parade rest?"

Chase swallowed and pulled his shoulders back. He was staring at the middle of House's chest, about where the third button on his shirt would be if he actually bothered with button-down shirts. House pushed Chase's jeans off his hips, then grabbed his chin and jerked it up so he could look into Chase's eyes.

It wasn't the eyes that were windows to the soul, that was crap. But between the slight shifts in dilation of Chase's pupils--the startling blue of his irises gone to narrow rings of arousal and fear--and the tension at the corners of his eyes, House had a pretty good idea of what was going on inside his head.

"You're still terrified," he said, letting go of Chase's chin and leaning forward to push his hands under his shirt. He slipped his fingers under the waistband of Chase's briefs, and even though Chase was trying to control his shivers they were still there. "Still don't think I can handle you?"

Chase hiccoughed a laugh. "Every time I relax you do something."

He thought that over for a second. "That's fair." With a jerk of his hands he shoved Chase's underwear off. Chase stayed still, breathing shallowly, as House got around behind him.

"All right, bend over, you know the drill," House said. This time before he gloved up he pulled a condom over Chase's erection. At Chase's perplexed look, he said, "I don't want you accidentally coming all over my floor. Hate to explain that one to the maid."

"Right," Chase said, sounding slightly strangled. House shook his head and pulled on a glove.

One-two-three fingers, easy. House left it at that for a minute, glancing at the clock on his desk and letting Chase relax into the pressure. Plenty of time--he'd been in Wilson's office earlier and knew exactly how much of that stack of paperwork Wilson was going to be able to stand before he decided to leave. He sped up his movements, listened to Chase's breathing catch.

Four fingers--Chase whimpered, then squeaked as House folded his thumb in and pushed.

"Relax," he ordered.

"I'm okay," Chase said.

House rotated his wrist, kept up the pressure. "What do you think?" he said as his fingers slid forward to the knuckles.

"I--" Chase swallowed.

"Tell me if it hurts," he said, moving slowly. When Chase hadn't said anything for a minute he pushed deliberately too hard, eliciting a cry of "Stoppitow!"

"That wasn't too hard, was it?" House said, backing off slightly.

Chase took a deep breath, nodded, and then meekly said, "Still hurts, but--this I can handle."

"Okay."

Repetitive motion. More lube. House kept one eye on the clock as he worked, monitoring Chase's breathing and infrequent comments and the seconds Wilson was spending on boring, good-guy stuff. He couldn't help but be amused at the contrast.

It wasn't, by definition, a sudden breakthrough when he got the first knuckle in--as he twisted his hand and Chase hissed through his teeth, "'kay that hurts--"

"How much?" he asked, not backing down.

"Ahh... I'm trying..."

"Almost there," he commented.

Chase inhaled sharply.

"You ready for this?"

"Oh, _fuck_," Chase said. "Fucking--I want it, _bad_\--"

"Do you want me to push?"

Chase didn't answer for a second. House stroked his thigh gently, up to the pointy ridge of his pelvic bone, feeling the soft panting of his breath and the flush of his skin.

"Yes," Chase said softly, then "Fuck, yes, please--"

And easier than he thought, one twist and suddenly Chase's sphincter was clamping down on his wrist, and Chase was sobbing out in shock and rocking back and forth on his toes, and it was actually intense and hot in a way that House wasn't expecting, like the way an epiphany on a case felt when it came together. But he was alert enough to grab Chase's waist and tell him, "You don't get to come, not yet. Not until I tell you."

"Fuck!" Chase spat, and stopped moving. House grinned and rubbed up and down Chase's back, teasing sweat off his skin.

When Chase relaxed from the initial rush and his breathing steadied, then House started rubbing the side of his hand against Chase's prostate. He kept glancing over at the clock. Just a couple more minutes. He hoped. If Wilson was going to be extra punctilious this evening he might have to come up with a new plan.

Thankfully, just as he got Chase wound to the point he was making quiet keening noises and holding onto House's desk like he was going to break it, the door opened.

House gave one fleeting moment's thought to what he would do if it was Cuddy, or Foreman, or Cameron who walked in. Talking his way out of any of those situations was a terrible if not impossible prospect.

But it was Wilson who stepped inside and let the door close behind him; Wilson who looked up and stopped cold, astonishment on his face; Wilson whose eyes widened and nostrils flared as he suddenly put together exactly what he was seeing.

House felt the pieces snap together to make a solid whole, leaned forward, and ordered, "Okay, now."

Chase made a sound like his soul was being torn apart as he spasmed and clenched around House's hand, and Wilson had an expression like he was trying to imagine how Chase felt. House was smirking, he knew it, but he couldn't help himself; it had all happened exactly as he'd set it up. When he pulled his hand out Chase whimpered, but he didn't seem to be in too much physical pain; there was no blood on his glove, just a few smears of santorum, nothing to worry about at all.

"Right," Wilson said, still staring, eyes wide and locked on Chase's face. He looked up to stare at House, or through him. "I'm going to turn around, and walk out, and pretend none of this ever happened."

Chase moaned. House pulled his glove off, letting the latex snap off his fingers for Chase's benefit. He met Wilson's gaze with a smile and agreed, "You do that."

As soon as Wilson closed the door behind him Chase's knees buckled and he collapsed in a ball on the floor. House looked down at him, sighed, and popped a vicodin before gingerly sitting down next to him. "Relax," he said. "He's not going to tell anyone."

"Oh fucking _Christ,_" Chase said.

"Seriously, telling Cuddy would get _me_ in trouble." He paused, gently patted Chase on the back, up between his shoulderblades. "And if he does completely lose his mind and narc, I'll send Foreman to break his kneecaps."

"I don't--oh, fuck, I don't even--"

"'What do you mean, Doctor Wilson said he saw something inappropriate?'" he faux-reported. "'I don't know what he thought he saw, but I was helping Dr. Chase with a personal examination, which he didn't want to put on his records. Very personal. Oh, well, I didn't want to drag him down to the clinic, I mean, what would people _think_\--'"

"Stop," Chase moaned.

"Right. I think we're clear."

Chase laughed, in what was clearly a desperate alternative to crying hysterically. "You bastard."

"Yeah," House said. "So on the scale of one to fucking Bettie Page and Angelina Jolie on the hood of a Corvette, how _was_ that orgasm?"

"Fuck you," Chase mumbled into his knees.

He smirked. "About what I thought."

Chase finally started uncurling, cleaned himself up with the kleenex on House's desk. He got his pants on, then slumped back onto the floor.

House watched him scratch at the carpet for a minute before asking, "Do you want to stop?"

Chase's head snapped up. "I--you're dropping me?"

"I'm asking if you want out."

Chase searched his expression for help, but House had always been good at poker. "I don't, no," he said. "I want to keep going."

"Okay, then." House grabbed his cane and levered himself to his feet, leg stiffer than he'd hoped but not as painful as he'd feared. "We'll keep going."

* * *

"You _told_ Wilson?" Chase asked him the next day at lunch.

House glared at him. "The rule was," he said, "nothing at work. So save it for later."

So Chase came back four hours later. "You told--"

House poked him in the chest with a brown paper bag. "Here," he said as Chase reflexively grabbed it.

"Here, what?" Chase asked.

House rolled his eyes and gesticulated. Chase eventually got the drift and looked inside, then blenched. "What is this?"

"Obviously," House said, "it's a double-ended dildo. So you can practice cocksucking."

"It's _pink_," Chase complained.

"What, doesn't go with anything in your closet?"

The second half of his order was starting to percolate. "Wait, you want me to--"

"Yeah," House confirmed.

Chase stared at him for a second, then opened the bag up and peeked at the implement again. "It's kinda... wide," he said, dubious.

"I'm sure you'll get used to it," House reassured him. "Go on."

Chase rolled up the bag and tucked it under his arm before leaving. He got as far as the hallway before he visibly realized House had shortcutted the entire discussion.

He turned around, came back in and demanded, "Seriously, you told Wilson?"

"Yep."

Chase stared for a moment. "Why?"

There were ten or twelve things House could say which were more reasonable and sympathetic than _I felt like it._ "I felt like it," he said.

Shock was one of Chase's more endearing facial expressions. "But--"

"You can tell _your_ friends," House offered, "As long as you're sure they won't get me fired."

Chase considered that for a long moment. "Great, and maybe you can fuck them, too," he finally said, then turned on his heel and left.

* * *

House considered ordering Chase to give him a blowjob, once he'd given him enough time to practice. Problem was, he didn't really want one--not from Chase, anyway. Running down the remainder of Chase's list, he realized this might pose a problem later.

For now, though, he had Wilson.

Wilson was almost more fun than Chase; he was certainly wound tighter. All House had to do was say something like "Okay, I'll have him spanked" about Chase's job performance and Wilson nearly had a panic attack.

So it was extra fun to watch his expression at the blowjob offer. It was after hours, so it totally counted, their patient was in the boring "treatment" phase, and the other two of the wonder three had gone home. Chase went very, very still at House's comment, but he didn't bolt.

"You offering?" Wilson asked him, which was pretty good considering the blush he was starting to show.

House leaned back, smiling. "Chase has a prettier mouth." And he'd better have been practicing, too.

Wilson probably didn't realize how turned on he was, House noted. He glanced in Chase's direction, and he was scowling when he met House's eyes again. "You can't just--"

"I don't mind," Chase said.

House gave him a glance. He was staring straight into the table, and he was giving Wilson's blush a run for its money. "Really," he added after a moment.

Wilson was visibly taking deep breaths to calm down, and pinching the bridge of his nose to avoid looking in either House or Chase's direction. Neither of these tactics was actually working, in the sense that they weren't teleporting Wilson out of his own inability to deal with his sexuality. "I'm so not a part of this," he finally said. "Stop trying to drag me in, okay?"

House shrugged. "Your loss."

There was an awkward silence as Wilson tried to stare him down and Chase tried to melt into his chair. "Well, right," Wilson finally said awkwardly, "we'll see about chemo for your patient tomorrow," which was one of those boring "treatment" things that he wished would just happen on their own so he could stop worrying about them. He waved it off and Wilson bolted with as much dignity as he could.

Chase stopped attempting to hide in his own shadow and looked sideways at him. "Did you want..."

He shook his head. "Nah." At Chase's blank stare, he continued, "What, eager to show off?"

"I just..." Chase shrugged. "I thought you wanted... I mean, why else--"

"Despite my best efforts, I'm still not gay," House said. "I'll try a new haircut, see if that helps."

Chase was frowning at him. After a moment, he collected himself enough to ask, "So... why are you doing this, then?"

"Because you asked." He let Chase have a moment or two to consider that, then said, "So, does that make up for not getting to blow me?"

Chase rolled his eyes and stood. "I'll see you tomorrow."

* * *

The thing was, House _knew_ Wilson.

Wilson liked to think he was a boy scout. He was kind, gentle, noble and good, and had terrible impulse control in his personal life and was still friends with _House_, which said something about his general worldview. So while he kept saying "No, no," something inside him was eating like an infection, pushing him closer. And best to purge that with exposure--because at least that way House would get some entertainment out of it.

And there was part of Wilson that really liked seeing people get their comeuppance. He kept expecting that to happen to House, and settled for watching House make it happen to other people.

So he was betting--he was betting the completion of this whole game and Chase's little list besides--that Wilson thought Chase deserved what he was going to get. That he was _resentful_, of Chase's relationship with House, of Chase's ability to blithely manage his own sexuality without turning it into a heap of drama and alimony.

He felt a little vindicated when Wilson accepted the next blowjob offer.

House wondered if it was more voyeurism or professional interest that he felt as he watched Chase kneel in front of Wilson's chair. He decided it was probably fair to call it fifty-fifty and leaned back to silently grade Chase on his performance. His enthusiasm seemed a bit lacking at first, but according to Wilson's reactions his technique quickly made up for it.

When Wilson came, he looked... drained, actually, slumping back in his chair to recover his breath with a disbelieving expression on his face. As House stood, Wilson tilted his head back to stare at him, half-stoned on impropriety and Jewish guilt.

House ignored him for half a second and looked at Chase, who was catching his breath and looking slightly twitchy. Not ill, though, which was impressive for how close his nose had been to Wilson's pelvic bone.

"Nice job," he acknowledged.

"Thanks," Chase said.

Wilson's eyes finally seemed to focus. He was totally bewildered, visibly willing himself out of the situation. House felt himself starting to wince in sympathy, held it back. This was strong medicine, and no time to back away now.

Wilson took a breath and looked back down at Chase. "Yeah, thanks," he said, throat catching midway through. Chase laughed, still leaning into Wilson's leg.

House nodded, and grabbed his jacket from his chair, and left before either of them could move. At that point he didn't care if it degenerated into kissing and gay cuddles on the floor, he just had to get some room.

This had better work. Chase had better come out of this sparkling clean with go-faster stripes and without damaging Wilson more than he could handle.

It'd work. And Wilson would be grateful.

* * *

He worked down the rest of Chase's little list over the next couple of months. He learned a few things: that it was really hard to tie someone's arms to a chair with a belt, for example. And Chase meant everything he'd written about needles and scalpels, leaving House glad that they were doing this in a hospital.

The first time House dosed Chase with knockout drugs, he tucked him into a corner of his office and let him sleep it off, curled on his side in a late-afternoon sunbeam like a cat on downers.

His eyeballing of dosage was excellent; Chase stirred and made unhappy noises about a half hour later. Raising his head slowly he asked, "Why am I on the floor?"

"I put you there so you wouldn't fall down," House said. He waited for Chase to sit up and handed him a glass of water. "How do you feel?"

"Kinda... stoned," Chase said. "What happened?" He squinted at the glass as though it would give him answers, then took a sip that turned into a gulp.

"Someone," House said, "might have put chloral hydrate in your coffee."

Chase stopped drinking, looked up at him. House nodded.

"Did..."

"No," House cut him off. "You just slept it off. I wanted to test the dosage."

"Oh." Chase took a breath, then swallowed the rest of the water.

House waited until his airway was clear before saying, "I also want you to think about this. If it's really what you want."

Chase looked up, brow furrowed in annoyance. "I said that I--"

"I mean _think_ about it," House overruled him. "Go home. Sober up. Actually think." He paused. "Actually, sober up first if you're going to drive. But the thinking part's the important one."

Chase nodded. He rolled the empty glass around in his hands and said, "And if I still say yes, I want you to--"

"Then I will."

Chase nodded again.

House drummed his cane on the floor for a moment, then asked, "Do you want Wilson in on it?"

"I--yeah, if you can convince him," Chase said, startled.

He watched Chase go back to staring into his empty glass. "Good to know."

* * *

"Yes," Chase said when he got to work the next morning.

House made a point of looking at his watch. Chase shook his head. "It's still before work, so really, yes."

"Okay, then," House said, and that was settled.

That was Tuesday. Their patient went through the "lying about their problems" phase that day, leading to the "extreme corrective action that annoyed Cuddy to no end" phase on Wednesday, and the "extreme corrective action to correct the ill effects of the first corrective action" phase on Thursday. Fortunately, due entirely to House's genius, Thursday was a good day. He handed Chase the job of writing down in creative detail the particulars of their patient's chart, and waited to see if Wilson was going to poke his head out of his shell.

Apparently a couple of months of abstinence from interdepartmental sex games had reassured Wilson that House was on the level. "Cuddy still frothing at the mouth?" he asked, giving Chase an idle glance when he came into the conference room, but no more.

House shrugged. "Since our patient _isn't_ any more, I think she should be satisfied."

"She generally does calm down when she realizes you're right."

"And since I'm always right, you'd think she'd learn to question my judgment less often." House pulled Chase's coffee cup down from the shelf and dropped the tablet he'd palmed into the bottom. Then he filled it with the last of the coffee, swirled the liquid to help dissolve the drugs, and handed the cup to Chase

Wilson, when House checked, was staring. "Um, I don't think that--" he started to object, far too late. House glared at him to shut him up anyway, on principle.

It only took Chase a couple seconds to keel over. House waited until he was totally out, then turned back to Wilson. "Nice one, Doctor Subtle. C'mon, give me a hand."

He didn't bother waiting. Once Wilson saw him trying to hoist Chase on his own, he got the picture and stepped up to take most of Chase's weight. "We're going to your office," House said once they were semi-mobile.

"Why my office?" Wilson asked.

"It's not a glass bubble," House pointed out. Also, though he didn't mention it, it had a couch and a very solid desk. House didn't usually mind the modern design aesthetic the whims of administration had foisted on him, but it had some serious drawbacks when it came to laying one's unconscious employee over a solid piece of furniture for the purpose of getting them fucked.

Dragging Chase went more easily than House had feared. He was dead weight, to be sure, but he was a skinny guy and Wilson was doing most of the work.

"What was that?" asked Wilson, who was full of questions today.

"Chloral hydrate." Desk, he decided, when he got Wilson's door open. "C'mon, over to the desk."

It was a little bit British-schoolmaster, he decided when they upended Chase over the desk, but convenient. And when Chase got the full story he'd appreciate the irony. Wilson complained at the papers that were sacrificed, but if he hadn't bothered filing them they obviously weren't that important anyway.

"Shut the door," he ordered. When Wilson didn't move, he glared and suggested, "Unless you _want_ someone looking in and seeing him like this. I mean, that was sort of the point of finding a room that wasn't mostly window."

Wilson shut the door. House leaned his cane against the desk and surveyed the setup for what he had in mind. He tilted Chase's head to one side and started tucking his arms into a slightly more comfortable position.

"Okay," Wilson said, "What is this about? Is this another of your games?"

He sounded as though he didn't approve. Fancy that. "Yup. Wanna play?"

"I am not getting involved when he's unconscious. I mean, what you're talking about is... is rape!"

"Not if he explicitly consented," House argued, putting a hole in Wilson's convenient theory and fuzzing the line Wilson was obviously attempting to take a stand on one side of.

"That's--_I_ still didn't get his consent, and I don't even know if you did."

That stung. "Don't you trust me?" he asked, then reached around and pulled Chase's belt off to make a point.

Wilson didn't respond for a second, then blurted, "You can't just--"

"You know what kind of stuff we've been up to," House cut him off, not pausing as he stripped Chase down. "And by stuff, I mean sex. And by sex, I mean I mean he asks me to do terrible things to him out of some kind of twisted Catholic need for authoritarian discipline. Kinky discipline which he can go home and beat himself up for liking."

He eyed Chase's ass for a moment, then took advantage of the belt in his hand to give it a slap. Chase wouldn't notice, but Wilson was staring, flushed to his ears. House raised an eyebrow and Wilson's blush deepened.

After another minute of silence, House pushed, "So, you in? He wanted me to talk you into it."

A slight exaggeration, maybe. Wilson flinched as though he'd been slapped. "What? I--no! No, you can't--I won't be a part of this."

House watched him, wondering how far he could push before Wilson would just walk out, rendering all his work useless. "But you wouldn't stop me, would you."

"I'd," Wilson started, then stopped and reversed tack. "You're already... something."

"So you agree that I _do_ have his consent," House said.

Wilson shook his head. "For... some things, but..."

"And I could definitely order him to suck _you_ off," he pressed.

"He was conscious for that! That's a big difference."

House waved in Chase's direction. "And he specifically asked for this, which is another big difference."

"I only have your word on that."

And there it was, that trust that he thought Wilson had in him. "I wouldn't lie," he said, "for something this important."

Wilson looked at him, wide-eyed and struggling to believe him, and then looked over at Chase, and he was right on that edge of desire and denial, almost ready to let go, to see exactly how far it would take him.

House wasn't worried. He knew Wilson--he knew the worst he was capable of, and really, if his lowest ebb was getting involved in Chase's date-rape fantasy, he'd probably still qualify for the ethics committee.

"Okay," House finally announced, deciding to try pushing a different button, "he wants you to fuck him while he's out. And if you won't, _I'll_ do it, and I won't be gentle with him."

Wilson _stared_ at that, and edged closer to Chase, as though he was going to bodily wrestle House away. "You--"

"Yeah," House said.

And while Wilson was still reeling, he followed it up with, "And he deserves it anyway, doesn't he."

"Oh, _fuck you_," Wilson growled, but that had done it; House pulled a condom out of his pocket and Wilson snatched it out of his grasp.

He had a moment to mentally kick himself when he realized he'd left the lube in his desk, but the whole spit-as-lube thing had an air of Brokeback Mountain authenticity to it. Wilson apparently decided the same thing, and forced himself on Chase's comatose form with only a hint of hesitation. By now, Wilson felt he deserved this.

House sighed silently to himself and looked down at Wilson's shoes. He couldn't watch Chase, eyes closed and childishly vulnerable, and he couldn't watch the odd mix of emotions on Wilson's face, anger and hurt and desire. So he watched Wilson's ankles as the muscles of his legs tensed and relaxed, until finally Wilson grunted high in the back of his throat and clenched his hands around Chase's waist, hard and fast.

He waited until the instant Wilson's face went from ecstasy to shame before interrupting. "All right, move if you're going to guilt trip."

Wilson looked up like he'd been caught with his dick in the cookie jar. When he stepped back he staggered, and House caught his elbow to move him aside.

Leaving him with the uncomfortable certainty that he really wasn't interested in having sex with Chase. Even when Chase was comatose. Maybe especially then.

He could probably leave it be, seeing as technically Chase _had_ gotten fucked, and he wouldn't remember it, anyway. House glanced at Wilson, who was staring at his feet, appalled at himself, and realized that if he left things as they were he might be able to square things with Chase, but Wilson would be an absolute wreck. And it was important to get this right.

Fuck it. He unzipped his pants and half-closed his eyes, curling his hand around his dick. This was what a vivid visual imagination and serious willpower was for.

After half a second's thought, he'd conjured Angelina Jolie making out with Cuddy on top of her desk. That got the old hydraulics moving, and he pulled a second condom out of his pocket and rolled it on.

Chase's ass was tight, and hot, and felt objectively good--yeah, good all right, but if he started thinking about Chase he started thinking about their agreement and that whole analytical--fuck it, he was going to lose--(Angelina Jolie _spanking_ Cuddy, turned bare-assed over her knee, Angelina's breasts jiggling with the motion and Lisa tearing up a bit as she kicked feebly)--okay, see? That was hot, that's the difference. He focused on that as he used Chase like a RealDoll, daring himself to just enjoy what he was doing straight up, unable to cross that final line into just _getting off_ on this--he had to throw Bettie Page into the fantasy, fuck it, Cuddy perched on her desk getting eaten out by Bettie, hair down in ringlets over her naked breasts, Bettie occasionally making astonished faces as Angelina brought a paddle down on her ass--Yeah, yeah, and if he concentrated just right, just right, he could drop straight out of reality and just enjoy--

Fuck, almost--

OHFUCKYESTHAT--okay, fuckYES--breathing, deeply, pulling out and patting Chase gently on the back, nice job being all drugged up and proving Kevin Smith's "just have to be there" theory. Good, that was done.

Wilson was staring at him blankly, and it looked like he hadn't moved since House had pushed him. "You going to clean up?" House asked, with a pointed nod at his dick, "or are you waiting for another turn?"

Wilson shuddered and turned away to tend to his bodily fluids. House stole a handful of his kleenex and did the same, then gently cleaned Chase up and got him dressed again. The belt was a pain in the ass.

Ha.

He looked up. Wilson was staring. "Help me get him over to the couch," he asked.

"Not going to leave him on the desk?"

It was heartening to hear Wilson say something; he hadn't been struck dumb, anyway. "I was thinking dump him on the side of the road," he bantered, letting Wilson lever Chase's body up from the desk. They got him on the couch, and House made sure he was curled on his side; he hadn't puked from the previous dose, but you could never be sure.

Pulse steady, color good. And Wilson was... upset with himself. House nodded. About what he expected. "Stay here a minute," he ordered, then grabbed his cane and walked out.

He went straight back to his own conference room, grabbed a cup and filled it with water. And then he stopped and let himself just--go, react to it all, and found himself grinning, nearly laughing. He'd done it. Actually done it. And Wilson would be hurt and not know why he'd gone along but he'd realize he hadn't actually damaged anyone, and Chase would have his revelation--or not, and they'd both _learn_ from it. They were perfect for each other, really. Wilson could cuss Chase out about responsibility and Chase could point out Wilson's hypocrisy, and House hadn't dropped either of them.

He picked up the cup of water, schooled his expression, and went back to see if Chase was awake.

* * *

"So," he asked Wilson when he came in the following Monday. "You two sleeping together yet?"

"None of your business," Wilson said, which meant yes.

"Stopped beating yourself up yet?"

Wilson glared, but it was half-hearted. "The next time you need someone date-raped, get someone else to do it," he said, and pushed past House to the stairs.

House smirked and pressed the button for the elevator, mind already back to work.


End file.
